With Bells On
by Funky In Fishnet
Summary: Ian thinks he's hiding his attraction to fellow comedy elf the Wolf very well. Only he isn't and the Wolf wants to talk to him and feed him nuts meant for next Christmas' stockings.


_**Disclaimer:** I own nothing._

_**Author Note: **Set after the 2014 Christmas Special 'Last Christmas.'_

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><p><strong>WITH BELLS ON<strong>

_Dreams are tricky. Children's dreams are enormous; they want to do everything and meet everyone, they want to have every adventure. Of course they don't stop dreaming when they become adults, their dreams change though, they become...quieter and stranger, bitter sometimes too. And it's Santa's job to somehow make all of those dreams come true._

_But Santa can't achieve this alone of course._

"Are you seriously writing your memoirs?"

Ian snapped his journal shut, his heart racing. The Wolf was grinning like one of his own dreams had just come true. Ian did not find that grin attractive at all.

"I'm just putting a few thoughts down, that's all, it's high time that elves got their proper due."

"Right. Not a particular elf then, one with a really boring name?"

Ian glared. He really did _not_ find the Wolf attractive. "Certainly not one named after a fairytale monster."

It was the Wolf's turn to frown now. That was much better, very unattractive.

"Hey, wolves are loyal and beloved and-."

"And they eat grandmothers and little girls."

"Like you've ever resisted the lure of a basket of muffins."

The narrow tips of Ian's ears were pinking, he could tell. His fingers twitched and with great effort, he turned back to his little desk, his hat-bells jingling pointedly. He was sensitive about his appetite and the Wolf knew it. In fact, it was rare that the Wolf played that card. It was one of many things that Ian really appreciated about him.

Even elves could dream.

Ian cleared his throat, the noise buried deep with hurt. Shouldn't the Wolf be hanging out with his friends? The elves that he was always talking about during work hours? "Like I said, I was just putting a few thoughts down. It's been an interesting season."

He fiddled with his fountain pen. There were always a few biros knocking around the workshops, for dealing with paperwork, but fountain pens were always used when labelling gifts. Ian preferred them, he liked the way they felt to write with and he'd gotten very good at imitating Santa's handwriting. It was important for there to be continuity, children noticed these things and Santa drummed into every elf the importance of cultivating children's dreams and imaginations.

"We don't pander," he always said. "We are a vital part of helping millions of children start to realise their own potential. And we do not let them down."

He was right - Ian had seen it happen. And Santa didn't tend to forget the elves who worked so diligently to make sure that Christmas wasn't ever a disappointment. There was the usual Christmas bonus of course and a present or two; Ian had received his fountain pen last year which had suited him perfectly. He'd been very pleased and Santa had appreciated the new pair of boots with much improved tread-patterns that Ian had bought him. And no, he hadn't been brownnosing, no matter what the other elves said. It'd been a very practical gift and useful at Christmastime. Santa had definitely appreciated them when they'd prevented him from taking a header off that roof in Osaka.

The Wolf had given Santa a wooden sleigh, one that he could use without reindeer to slide down snowy hills . For fun. Ian wasn't convinced that someone who spent the busiest time of the year driving a sleigh would want to be reminded of that in their spare time too. And with the amount of whisky Santa drank, there was always the a drink driving risk which the Wolf had only added to now by providing another vehicle. Of course Ian had already ended up attempting to heave a boozy Santa out of the snow after a ride on the Wolf's wooden sleigh.

There was a sharp brittle noise – the Wolf was cracking nuts with his teeth and spitting out the shells. He was also now sitting a little closer to Ian. Ian's ears were still pink, his fingers clenched around his journal.

It was Christmas, that was all. Thinking and writing about their most recent December was affecting him. He wasn't usually this _affected_ around the Wolf. Ian was much more professional than that, his career was his focus thank you, and the Wolf still had a lot to learn but Santa had already been overheard saying that the Wolf showed promise. Well, Ian had been showing promise for years; it'd be nice if that was actually prominently recognised from time to time. He had extremely, and usefully, steady hands for a start, a fact known throughout the North Pole. He was about to point this out to the Wolf when the Wolf popped a deshelled walnut into Ian's mouth. Ian made a startled noise but ate the nut. It was very good – of course it was, it was clearly from a very special pantry.

"You stole some stocking fillers?!"

The Wolf carelessly shrugged a shoulder and cracked more nuts. Ian did not watch him at all avidly, his insides traitorously squeezing a little. He double-checked, almost hopefully, but no, there was no mistletoe about. That'd caused a lot of trouble in the past, the way that elves were affected by mistletoe. Anyway, the Wolf was a very bad idea and wasn't even interested. Fraternisation wasn't against regulations; it was only a problem when it caused fights – like the all-out war that'd exploded in a workshop last February. It'd involved pop guns, catapults and a disgraceful amount of hair-pulling.

Sometimes Ian wondered what that'd be like; caring so much about a fellow elf that a battle broke out involving the produce of every elf's hardest work. He had no idea of course. No idea at all.

Still, it wasn't against regulations.

So the Wolf wasn't interested and apparently was only inclined to sit nearby and be silently distracting so Ian uncapped his pen and turned pointedly back to his journal. Why was the Wolf even here? Ian didn't have time for this; the next Operation Christmas started in a month. Ian and his steady hands were going to be needed for threading needles and piecing together model aeroplanes etc to make sure that every kit part was actually included. No matter what anybody else muttered – and yes, Ian had heard them – Ian's role was absolutely essential. The Wolf wasn't known for his steady hands; in fact he was kept away from that kind of delicate work. Instead he possessed an uncommonly-singular talent for gift-wrapping. He could cleave to the sharpest corners and attractively wrap the most peculiar shapes. Ian admired that and occasionally wished that his own hands could make that kind of magic happen.

He tried to get back into his writing but was too aware of the Wolf's presence and how he was moving, having now apparently stopped shelling nuts, his side touching Ian's. Ian's pen skidded across the page. He was definitely going to blame Christmas for this.

He was-.

"Ian."

The Wolf sounded very determined which got Ian's attention and made his insides to squeeze again. Ian wanted them to stop, he did, but he found himself distracted because he was suddenly being clumsily kissed. It surprised him into stillness, the fountain pen falling numbly from his fingers. The Wolf was kissing him, he was very warm.

The Wolf ended the kiss, frowning, "Oh."

That galvanised Ian, "Oh?!"

"You didn't do anything. I thought you'd do _something_."

"Did you." Ian picked up his pen and tried to convince his hands not to shake. This was absolutely the last straw. The bells on his hat jingled angrily. "I don't like practical jokes and this isn't funny. I'm going to ask for a different partner and-."

"Woah, hold on. This isn't a joke," protested the Wolf, still close, still warm.

He looked honestly offended. Ian glanced at him; the Wolf looked right back and slowly reached for Ian's hand. He began to sort of stroke Ian's knuckles. Ian swallowed and very carefully put down his pen. There was tense silence for a few moments, both of them concentrating on each other. Ian noted how nice the Wolf's mouth looked – it'd tasted nice too – and how interested the Wolf seemed to be. It was a new experience for Ian, it made him feel itchy. He needed some answers.

"Uh, so this isn't a joke...?"

The Wolf startled, then his usual grin reformed, "No, I thought, well. I thought it was obvious really, what with all the time we spend together. Santa reckons it'll be good for my development or something if I do shifts with other elves. A few of them have nice ideas, you know."

Ian's stomach sank and he thought about pulling his hand away but the Wolf's grip on his fingers became firm and he looked like he knew what Ian was thinking which was very disconcerting.

"Which is great but I like working with you."

Ian's stomach stopped sinking and flipped over instead. He could feel his expression slacken. He and the Wolf argued a lot, no, they _aired their differences and explored their differing approaches to the job in a constructive manner_. Santa got rather annoyed with them sometimes when they did that but they got their jobs done very nicely, Ian had always thought so.

The Wolf hadn't stopped stroking Ian's fingers, "I like watching you work, your hands really. It's like, how do they do what they do? I like that, watching and trying to work it out."

The Wolf had been watching him. Ian was faintly glad that he'd put his treasured pen down out of the way. The Wolf smirked a little.

"And I know you like watching me too."

Ian opened his mouth to protest that he hadn't been that unprofessional thank you and that that smugness wasn't attractive at all, but he found himself chewing instead of speaking because the Wolf had taken the opportunity to swiftly and gleefully pop another nut past Ian's lips. He grinned at Ian's expression; Ian considered spitting the nut at him but ultimately decided not to. It tasted nice and he wasn't a wasteful elf, especially when it came to stocking fillers.

The Wolf was still holding his hand; he was still very warm, very close. He really didn't seem to be joking. He kissed Ian again, this time Ian strove to try and kiss him back. He felt as though someone had pulled a cracker inside of him. The bells on both their hats began jingling.

"So..."

The Wolf's eyebrows lifted once their kiss came to an end. Their hands stayed firmly intertwined and their legs pressed together. Ian felt like he was probably close enough to count the Wolf's eyelashes but he didn't. He looked though, because the Wolf was looking at him very avidly. Ian's ears pinked again but he didn't pull away, he really didn't want to.

"Dreams are tricky?"

The Wolf was nodding towards Ian's journal, like he wanted to hear more. Oh. Ian cleared his throat, he'd have to soon fetch himself his usual favoured mug of warm milk and honey. Maybe the Wolf would like a drink too.

"Yes." Ian cleared his throat again, his free hand straying to his journal, his mouth quirking up because "Especially when you're named after a child's worst nightmare."

"Oy!"

Later, the Wolf did drink a mug of warm milk and honey and despite the absence of mistletoe, Ian and the Wolf's hat-bells began to almost harmonise.

_-the end_


End file.
